


Sweet Tooth

by Haruka666



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor: Tales of Asgard
Genre: Crack, Figging, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haruka666/pseuds/Haruka666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malekith suffers the consequences of having overindulged his fondness for sweets. Algrim gloats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Malegrim crack fic I wrote as a birthday gift for [The-Accursed](http://the-accursed.tumblr.com/) a while ago. It features comic Malekith and ToA Algrim and is mainly based on some discussions about a comic panel in which Malekith looks _slightly_ chubby, which gave birth to the headcanon that he might possibly possess a fondness for sweets. I just thought I’d post it here to share it with the 5 or so people who ship them. :)

Taking a sick day was most uncommon for the Accursed. It was something he did not quite have the liberty of affording, for who, if not the scourge of the Nine Realms, was to take it upon himself to sound the hunting horn of the faerie and to lead the Wild Hunt to plunder and to pillage, to maim and to mangle, to spread terror all about and to fill the air of Svartalfheim with screams of agony as those who opposed his reign were rent to shreds by a pack of slobbering hounds? Certainly, it was a _heavy_ burden Malekith had to bear, but he did so with unprecedented commitment and nary a word of complaint.

In fact, there had only ever been one terrible occasion on which he had found himself rendered incapacitated and confined to—no, not the bed, but rather to the royal _privy_ , which was the day his advisor – owing to a string of unfortunate circumstances – had been forced to fill in for the cook, and by sheer lack of culinary knowledge had sprinkled the elf king’s earthworm pasta with laxative instead of the usual toadstool spores. The peeled ginger root Malekith had shoved up Algrim’s admittedly delectable rear in retaliation had taught the poor fellow to pay closer attention to his liege’s dining habits.

Today, however, the Accursed appeared to have come down with a rather nasty stomach flu, something of which he was sure he had contracted during his latest clash with Thor when the Thunderer/llama had rudely spat into his face in response to being advised to ‘shove his blasted hammer up where the sun does not shine’. That was, at least, what Malekith tried to convince himself of. 

Algrim, on the other hand, had dared to propose the preposterous theory that his king’s illness was the result of having overindulged his fondness for sweets, which was, of course, completely ludicrous.

Yes, Malekith had fed his sweet tooth well that day, this he would not deny - but how, _by the Norns_ , **how** , was he supposed to refrain from stuffing his face with such mouth-watering, scrumptious, and just utterly _heavenly_ delicacies as chocolate-coated spider legs (he liked to suck on them – much to Algrim’s discomfiture – loved to let the chocolate melt on his tongue until he could feel those silky little hairs tickle his palate), candied butterfly wings (oh so sweet and sugary and crunchy), glazed banewort berries (there was nothing quite like a good ‘ol trip - of the hallucinatory sort, mind you), and his personal favourite, batter-fried, pollen-dusted toad eyeballs (that delightful _‘pop’_ when they burst between his teeth to flood his mouth with their succulent juice, mmh). Not to mention the five casks of elderberry wine whose content had found its way into his stomach to complete the wild mix.

But no, the cause for his sickness definitely was a nasty Aesir virus. 

After all these delectable treats Malekith certainly did not appreciate the bowl of steaming slug stew that Algrim, who was seated at the king’s bedside, was currently trying to feed him. With his mouth pinched shut he turned his head from side to side in a vain attempt to escape the inevitable, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he found a spoonful of the foul-smelling goo pushed against his lips at which he made the mistake of protesting, “Ew, get this horrid stuff out of my face, Alg—“ And between his lips the spoon was slipped to deposit its slimy load onto his tongue. Had he not felt too weak to even swat at the flies that were feasting on the unfortunate serf that had happened to walk in on him indulging in a stuffing of the more _amorous_ variant (with Algrim, no less), and whose decaying remains were now artfully draped about one of the Accursed’s bedposts as a gruesome piece of scenery, he would have slapped the bowl right out of Algrim’s hand and proceeded to wipe that maddeningly smug smile from his advisor’s face. “You are enjoying this, Algrim.”

“Oh, I most certainly am, Sire,” Algrim chirped, scooping up another spoonful and forcing it mercilessly past Malekith’s lips. “Now I suggest you finish your meal if you wish to be back in full strength to lead the raid on Alfheim in a few days.”

And so, the Accursed begrudgingly complied, forcing down spoonful after spoonful with an obedience few would have thought him capable of and washing it down with a mug of stinging nettle tea (unsweetened). 

Though quite soon, and in spite of Algrim’s dedicated coddling, a fresh wave of nausea rose from the pit of Malekith’s stomach, churning his insides and travelling up his gullet to— “Algrim, quick, the bucket!” The king heaved violently, retching for all he was worth, and while he’d never admit to it he found himself genuinely grateful that Algrim, _good, loyal Algrim_ , had the good sense to ‘hold his hair’ as the mortals put it, keeping the mage’s lustrous locks from spilling over his shoulders and dipping into the reeking mess he had just produced. 

Well, at least his hounds would get to enjoy a wholesome meal this eve.

Malekith’s humiliation was far from over, though. Once the bucket and its revolting content had been disposed off he sank back against the pillows with a suffering groan of “Algrim, Algriiim, I’m dyiiiiing”, and said elf was back at his side in a flash, his palm pressed to the Accursed King’s fevered brow.

“You might well be,” Aglrim agreed matter-of-factly before he produced from somewhere between his robes a delicate glass tube. Without hesitation he pulled back the blankets that preserved Malekith’s modesty, a silvery brow rising quizzically as his gaze swept over the king’s midsection. “My, my, Sire… Are my eyes deceiving me or did you put on quite a bit of weight of late?”

Ignoring the Accursed’s sputter of outrage, Algrim reached out to fondly pet the toned expanse of Malekith’s stomach that had just a _hint_ of chubby softness to it before adding, with a suggestive quirk of his lips, “I quite like you like this, if I may take the liberty of saying so.”

Malekith did not quite know whether the heat he felt rush to his face was born of seething rage or bone-deep mortification, but what he knew was that so brazen an affront to his person could certainly not go unpunished. Yet, with the fever ravaging his body and making him feel as though he was being roasted on a spit over the flaming pits of Muspelheim, Malekith was in no condition to devise a fit punishment for Algrim’s verbal transgression, and thus leaving him quite unable to either voice his protest or to put up a struggle as he was made to turn over onto his stomach with a hearty push.

With his face pressed so deep into the pillow that he ran the risk of suffocating, Malekith met his fate with grim resignation as Algrim proceeded to take his temperature, lubing up the thermometer before he parted the king’s cheeks with practiced ease to slide the slender instrument most unceremoniously into his body, the rounded tip jabbing none too gently at his insides.

After the entire dreadful procedure was finally over, having only served to confirm the obvious, namely that he had indeed ~~stuffed himself with too many sweets~~ caught a nasty stomach bug, Malekith was left to sulk and suffer in solitude while Algrim went to fetch him another bowl of slug stew and, to the Accursed’s boundless dismay, a bottle of cod-liver oil on top, a well-proven home remedy as the erudite advisor had explained.

The next time, Malekith silently vowed to himself, he’d make sure to coat that ginger root with Tabasco.

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr](http://haruka666.tumblr.com/post/112917055079/).


End file.
